


Nereid

by emoviolent



Series: All Nereids Beware [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Cannibalism, Demons, Gore, M/M, Morbid, Mortician, Necrophilia, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Wound Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emoviolent/pseuds/emoviolent
Summary: Patrick struggles with human connection but flourishes as a forensic scientist/mortician and finds people easier to speak to if they can’t talk back. One of the corpses doesn’t stay dead.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: All Nereids Beware [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994461
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20
Collections: Trick Or Pete 2020





	Nereid

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween. patrick puts his dick in dead things.

NAME: UNKNOWN

SEX: M

DOB: UNKNOWN

Being detached from people helps him get the job done. He’s seen more dead bodies naked than he has seen the genitals of a living person to the point where his lack of interest in human sexuality is firmly solidified. The days seem to run into each other and everything feels so average to Patrick. It’s an easy routine to slip into. Wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast, take a concoction of dubious pharmaceuticals, go to work, lunch, more work, go home, kill time, sleep repeat. 

Does are the least interesting part of Patrick’s job. Dozens of beady eyes staring at him accusingly doesn’t unnerve him. In fact, there’s a bit of comfort. They’re just as unknowable as actual people; the only difference is that they don’t breathe or talk back. It isn’t his job to figure out who they are, nor does he care. Let the pigs sniff it out based on whatever he writes on the autopsy report. 

Blue lips, glossy amber eyes and dark circles shouldn’t be so beautiful. If Patrick blurs his vision enough he can ignore the bruises encircling the corpse’s throat and the thick gash caked with clotted blood spread across his motionless face. He looks as though he’s sleeping rather than dead, somber and at peace. So pretty. 

Something stirs within him. Pity — well that’s new. He can put on a show of pretending to feel bad for people. Therapy has done him some good over the years and it almost feels natural to slip into the role of a sorrowful and remorseful. But this isn’t acting. He actually feels bad for this person.

Calling it a person instead of a corpse. That’s also new. Maybe it deserves a better title than just ‘the corpse’. Maybe ‘the Doe’ is a step in the right direction until he learns more.

  
  
  


That corpse. That damned corpse with its hazy eyes and plush lips. Patrick has never felt like this before. Romantic and sexual desire for others were never emotions or reflexes he related to. Why would he want someone to touch him intimately, both figuratively and physically? He knows of sex and what it feels like, enjoys it immensely, but letting other people get close to him is not an option. If he could forgo formalities entirely and not have to focus on a partner, he’d pursue sex more often. 

A corpse wouldn’t expect pleasure or conversation. Dead people can’t say no. 

Patrick buries that thought almost as soon as it first crawls into his mind. Even he knows that necrophilia is immoral and wrong despite his resistance to social order. But that doesn’t stop him from wondering what it would be like. Fire stirs in his loins.

It would be cold and stiff depending on how long the person has been dead. That would make mobility an issue but holding positions would be easier. Patrick slides a hand over the tented crotch of his pants, face hot with arousal. He thinks about the Doe’s empty gaze and the gaping wound in his chest and opens his pants with such ferocity that the button is nearly torn off. He spits in his hand and quickly fists at his erect dick, making unusual primal sounds as he conjures up images of sickly taupe skin against his own pallid complexion in the heat of sex. Just a touch would do it. Just the sight of the Doe would be enough.

He orgasms with a sharp cry and the cum splatters between his feet. His hand is wet with the evidence of his indecent act and the image is still fresh in his mind. This is sick. Something truly is wrong with him. 

  
  


But he can’t bring himself to stop thinking about this dead man. He calls to him like a siren, permeating his thoughts and dreams. Patrick knows he is obsessed and behaving irrationally but cannot help it; he’s finally found the person meant for him and he’s dead.

Patrick shouldn’t do this. It’s a violation of privacy and consent. It’s abuse. But the Doe is asking for it. The growing glimmer in its dead eyes, its appearance in his dreams. It wants him to want him and Patrick is willing. 

He pours himself into the case, determined to find a cause of death. His answer is never the same because the body seems to be changing. Each conclusion is an unfounded false negative and leads to a dead end. It isn’t strangulation nor is it overdose or a stabbing. The stab marks disappear. The welts on the Doe’s back are exchanged for cuts trailing down his thin wrists. There is no answer because they seem infinite. It leaves Patrick as frustrated as it leaves him enamored. 

  
  


Two rapid knocks patter against the office wall. Patrick looks up from his files and turns in his chair to find his coworker Joe standing in the doorway with a paper bag and two beverages from Starbucks. “I got your usual.”

“Thank you.” Patrick allows Joe to sit on his desk, biting back a scathing remark and managing to keep his face neutral. Joe opens the bag and offers him a bagel. He takes a bite and places it on a folder without actual intention to eat it. Too unfulfilling for so many calories and sugar content. 

Joe’s gregarious mannerisms are tolerable due to his punctuality and openness. Some people find him to be rude or annoying but Patrick finds comfort because Joe is the closest he will ever have to a proper friend.

  
  


“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” Joe asks. Right to the point as always. Patrick shakes his head and turns another page in the report, skimming it disinterestedly. It is too early to read about people choking to death during sex games gone wrong. “The team at the funeral home is going bowling. You should come.”

Patrick’s response is short and firm: “No.” He likes working with Joe because he doesn’t need to explain himself and they don’t have to talk often to communicate. 

“You need to get out more,” Joe says with a shake of his head. “Meet someone. There’s some lucky girl, or guy, out there for you.”

Patrick smiles tightly in response and shrugs as he takes a sip of his coffee. As he burns his tongue on the bitter liquid he begrudgingly thinks  _ I do meet people. It’s the best part of the job because they’re dead. _

Dead people don’t talk back. Dead people don’t complain. Dead people don’t laugh at you or make you feel infinitesimal. Dead people don’t think you’re strange. Dead people can’t say no.

Usually Patrick would take his time and please his lover because it was fair even if he could care less about their feelings. Sex was meant to be mutual. 

This isn’t sex. This is violent, animalistic, cruel, hedonistic. Patrick plunders and absolutely devastates the Doe, grunting with each thrust. It —  _ he  _ — is tight around him and warmed up with the friction, stiff against the cool steel of the table. Patrick couldn’t ask for anything more. 

He doesn’t even bother cleaning away his semen when he finishes and delights in pushing it back inside of the used hole. The Doe remains motionless and indifferent. 

_ Maybe being stiff in bed isn’t a bad thing,  _ Patrick thinks to himself. The crude thought makes him laugh.

  
  


Patrick tries not to show too much excitement when Joe takes the day off. Something about his daughter going to the dentist. He has no interest in Joe’s personal life. He only is concerned with the Doe. 

Blood doesn’t scare him nor does it excite him but something about the Doe makes it appealing. Dissecting someone is so intimate and personal. He wants to feel the weight of his heart in his palm and to mull over every bit of his guts. He wants to get as deep as he possibly can.

The gloves chaff his palms and his hand shakes as he brings the scalpel to flesh. Patrick almost expects the man to jump as his torso is split. Blood spurts and stains his goggles and mask, making him leap back in surprise. A reaction like this is abnormal in a body that isn’t fresh and based on rigor mortis, Patrick can firmly say this John has been dead for several hours.

He dabs the blood away with gauze and continues opening up the body, breaking its ribs so he can examine its organs and muscles. Writhing organs greet him, making him gasp and shudder. In that brief moment of shock he swears he sees the corpse — that’s all it is, a dead body — breathe. And then its eyes move and stare deep into his own, piercing and empty and aching. 

Patrick stumbles back, knocking his tools to the ground in his state of dismay. This isn’t happening. The Doe blinks and turns its head causing blood to flow forth from its gaping chest. He opens his mouth and reveals a set of sharp black teeth and shrieks.

Patrick drops his instrument and slams back against the table, sending papers and his phone crashing to the ground. He startles and bends over to clean his mess despite his heart thundering in his chest. His hands shake as he stacks the documents neatly into a pile, looking to the corpse with wide eyes. When he finds it still and in its original standard position, he purses his lips. A trick of the mind from lack of sleep perhaps? 

As he picks up his surgical tools and places them in the sink for sanitation, he feels a gust of hot air against his ear. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and goosebumps prick his skin. Something is whispered in his ear, a single syllable, a name:  _ Pete. _

Patrick slowly washes the tools, afraid to face the Doe. He removes his gloves and washes his hands before applying a new pair, disposing of the soiled pair. He swears that the blood is pure black as he throws them out and buries them with a pile of paper towels. He makes his way around the room, refusing to look at that  _ thing  _ unless it moves again. He shouldn’t be afraid of it; it’s dead. It’s a body. There is nothing living in it, no thoughts, no beating heart. 

A dense pressure is applied to his shoulder, pushing down oppressively and nearly wringing the breath from him.  _ Heart. Now.  _

Patrick’s breath stills and he begins to slowly turn to face whomever is speaking to him. Cloudy hazel eyes stare at him with such fondness that logic defies him. He brings Pete a heart and lays it on the table for him, watches him lick it into his mouth salaciously. 

With his mouth stained red from blood, Pete walks towards Patrick slowly, unblinking and unabashedly nude. The cuts made in his flesh mend themselves, blood drawing back into them and flesh growing rapidly. Patrick gulps audibly and trembles as Pete stands directly in front of him.

“You sodomized my corpse.” His voice is raspy and barely above a whisper. His breath smells of rich iron and dirt. 

“I did.”

“You‘ve thought of it before. It was premeditated.”

“Yes.” Patrick blinks and wavers under Pete’s wrathful gaze. “What are you going to do to me?” If he plans to kill him, Patrick will accept it. 

Pete turns his head towards the wall of corpses neatly tucked away in their silver drawers. “Bring me another heart.” He sniffs the air. “Something fresh this time.”

Patrick quickly obliges and cuts out the heart of the newest body. Before he can remove it entirely from the victim’s chest, Pete is leaning over his shoulder and frantically eating from his hands like a wild beast. He watches in awe as Pete bares his teeth and scarfs down the organ, biting him in the process. The pain is fierce and makes him gasp sharply. 

Pete licks at his wound, eyes rolled back so only the whites show. He grasps at Patrick’s wrist and sucks at the cut before abruptly pulling himself away and stumbling backwards to the ground. He spreads his legs for Patrick and stares at him with constricted pupils. “Fuck me. Now.” Pete cocks his head to the side and as though reading Patrick’s mind says, “You won’t break me. It’s better when it hurts anyway.”

Patrick makes good on Pete’s suggestion and slices his belly open, pressing his cock deep into the cut. Pete gasps and howls at the first movement, momentarily going slack in Patrick’s hold. Spit and blood dribble from his mouth and his penis hardens with each cant of Patrick’s hips. He wraps a fist around Patrick’s bloodied erection and caresses it, murmuring words in a strange language. 

“Deeper,” Pete moans. His eyes are blown wide open and attentive as Patrick nears his orgasm. “Give me your seed.”

Patrick digs deeper in Pete’s stomach as he floods his insides with his cum, nearly falling over from how intense it was. Pete’s hands wrap around his knees to steady him and rub his thighs lovingly as he pulls his cock out with a deep satisfied groan. The hole in Pete’s torso is disgusting and wide, weeping cum, blood and guts before it repairs itself. As the skin grows over, Pete licks at Patrick’s softened gory cock until he pulls him away by his hair. 

“What are you?” Patrick demands breathlessly.

With a wicked grin, Pete says, “Healing.”

  
  
  


“We need to close the case.” Joe’s blue eyes are tired, circled with darkness and void of light. “There is nothing more that we can do. No trail, no evidence, nothing.” Pete’s body has been covered with a white sheet and is planned for transport to the next county’s morgue by tomorrow night. 

“Not yet.” Patrick flips through the manila folder for Pete, gazing at the image of his face for a beat too long. He struggles to make a new excuse. “I almost have an answer.”

“Patrick… this may be out of our reach of comprehension. Let someone else take over.” 

“Not yet.” Patrick grits out his response and shoots Joe a crazed glare before reading over his files again. He steals a glance at Pete’s covered body and looks back to Joe. 

Joe passively holds up his hands. “I’m not dealing with this anymore. I want off the case.” Patrick is taken aback by his outburst. He has never seen his coworker become so enraged and irritated. “I don’t want to look at that… that  _ thing  _ anymore.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“It’s… evil. Something inside of it or - or the corpse itself…” Joe furrows his dark eyebrows and points to the body before retracting his hand quickly as though he would be bitten. “That thing is no good.” He steps so close that Patrick can feel his breath on his lips, hot and panicked. When Patrick looks to the table, it is empty. “I don’t think it is entirely human Patrick.” 

The white sheet stands proudly behind Joe. Patrick blinks and white becomes red.

**Author's Note:**

> i want to add more to this later because corpse!pete is fascinating.


End file.
